


The Great Christmas Prank War of ‘46

by Eienvine



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, PeggysousSecretSantaExchange2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of drinking with Howard and the Jarvises leads Daniel and Peggy into a prank war . . . and maybe into something more.</p>
<p>For CotyCat82 for the 2015 Peggysous Secret Santa Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Christmas Prank War of ‘46

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CotyCat82 (scentofnightjasmine)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=CotyCat82+%28scentofnightjasmine%29).



> The prompt: "Peggy drunkenly decorates Daniel’s crutch for the holidays. (I’ll leave you to the why on that.) Daniel is not amused. (Also, leaving open for you to fill in.) A happy ending or perhaps them starting to date at the end of the story would be lovely."
> 
> I've done my best, Coty. ;)

. . . . . . 

It begins on a Saturday morning in late November, when Peggy sleepily leaves her guest room at Howard's Lake Arrowhead house and wanders into the kitchen, wincing at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Someone—probably Jarvis or Ana—has thoughtfully left a bottle of aspirin out on the counter, and she greedily grabs at it and washes two tablets down with a large glass of water. This is all Howard's fault. She hasn't been this hungover since the war, which makes sense, because she hasn't had a night of serious drinking with Howard since the war. He has a way about him, one that makes you believe that anything's possible, that any idea he has is a good idea—that makes you decide to keep accepting the drinks he offers you long after common sense says you should stop.

Well, he's probably as hungover as she is, which is some consolation in all this. Jarvis and Ana are likely fine—they're both careful about their drinking. And Daniel, the dear little lightweight, fell asleep on the sofa at eleven, the result of a combination of the beer and of a long, stressful few weeks at work. He nearly didn't make it to this little weekend getaway; the LA office caught a murder case that had started to look unsolvable, and only a last-minute break in the case—brought about by one Peggy Carter, although she doesn't like to toot her own horn—freed him up so he could attend.

(Howard was thrilled, having taken Daniel on as his new pet project after they both found themselves in LA. The man is genuinely fond of Daniel, whom he affectionately refers to as a peg-legged boy scout and whose luck with women he is determined to turn around. He's constantly setting the chief up on dates, and in fact Daniel's last girlfriend was the direct result of Howard's meddling. Say what you will about Howard, Peggy thinks, but the man gets results.)

That makes her wonder: did Daniel ever make it to his room last night, or did he spend the whole night on the sofa? She's fairly sure he was still there when she went to bed, although the fog in her brain makes it hard to be sure. In fact most of what happened last night is a blur. So, curious, she wanders into the living room.

Daniel is there, still in the clothes he fell asleep in last night. But he's no longer sprawled across the couch; he's sitting up on it, staring across the room at a strange Christmas tree decoration on a coffee table by the window. He doesn't see her come in, and she's embarrassed to find herself self-consciously smoothing down her hair. She doesn't care what anyone thinks of her, honestly . . . but she occasionally acts against that policy where one Daniel Sousa is concerned. It's not her fault; it just happens sometimes at moments like this, when the morning sun is softly illuminating the lines of his face.

Something must warn him of her presence then, because he glances suddenly up at her and she's left with all the embarrassment of having been caught staring. "Peg," he says, sounding surprised, then corrects himself: "Peggy. Sorry. Good morning."

"Good morning, Daniel," says Peggy, and tries to come up with an explanation for her standing in the door watching him, and fails. No shock that she can't find words around him; they’ve both been a bit odd around each other since she arrived in LA. Not always; they still work marvelously well together, and when they're focused on a case, things between them are so easy—easier than any other working relationship she's ever had, apart from the Howling Commandos and Steve. That's the real reason she accepted Daniel's offer to make her temporary assignment in LA into a permanent job change: she's not willing to give that partnership up. But when there's no case, when things are personal, then everything's just a bit stilted and uncomfortable. She doesn’t always know what to say to him; he treats her entirely too carefully.

Or maybe it's all on her side; maybe he hasn't noticed it. All she knows is that the memory of his crush in New York, of a rejected invitation for drinks, hangs over every interaction they have. But it's not because she doesn't want him to ask again; it's because she kind of wishes he would. Which is not a big deal, really; it’s just that she’s finally realized that he’s the sweetest guy she knows. And that she really enjoys spending time with him. And that he’s got just about the nicest smile she’s ever seen. That’s all.

But every time she thinks that, another memory comes to mind: the end of her first day in LA, when a sweet-faced redhead came to meet Daniel at the office. The way he smiled at the woman as he introduced her as Karen. The way the other guys at the office didn't even bother to give him a hard time about the lady friend, because she was obviously such a fixture in the chief's life that teasing him about her had ceased to be amusing. The surprising sinking feeling in Peggy's chest as she realized Daniel had moved on. Karen's out of the picture now, has been for two months now, but in the nearly seven months since his first invitation, Daniel has never asked Peggy out for drinks again.

(Howard has hinted, more than once, that he thinks Peggy and Daniel would make a great match, and has tried to set them up with each other. But she refuses to go along with it; she would find it humiliating for Daniel to take her on a date only because Howard made him. She would happily go out with him, but only if he asks of his own free will. Which he's not going to do. Not anymore.)

But girlfriends and dates and crushes seem to be the last thing on Daniel's mind at the moment; the more she looks at his face, the more she realizes it's expressing confusion and concern. "Something wrong?" she asks.

"Actually," he admits, glancing around the room, "I can't find my crutch. I know I left it propped up against this couch. And I'm wondering if maybe . . ."

He gestures at the strange Christmas tree on the table, and Peggy realizes that it was not there yesterday when they arrived but that it does look oddly familiar to her. It's not a proper tree; it's made of strips of green fabric, tied from the top of some sort of supporting pole down to the edges of the round table, creating a tree shape; it's bedecked with what appear to be round labels from the beer they had last night, stuck on with the bit of adhesive still clinging to them after they were pulled off the bottles, and a star on the top made of a yellow pipe cleaner. Now that Daniel mentions it, it is precisely the height of his crutch.

Before she can go investigate, though, Jarvis bustles in, looking entirely put together and not at all hungover. "Mr. Sousa," he says politely, hurrying over to the Christmas tree and starting to disassemble it. "I do apologize; I'd intended to clean this up before you awoke but I've been occupied with a plumbing problem." Sure enough, the tree turns out to be supported by Daniel's trusty crutch, flipped over so the arm rest forms a nice sturdy base.

"Where did that come from?" Peggy asks, curious.

Jarvis doesn't answer with words; he just gives her a very expressive look.

Peggy is humiliated. "No, I didn't. Did I? How drunk was I?"

"Rather drunk," Jarvis answers matter-of-factly. "I should say, though, you did have help; Mr. Stark was right there with you. I believe the beer label ornaments were his idea. And I'm afraid Ana provided the fabric and the pipe cleaner; she'd had a little much last night as well." He finishes untying the fabric from the crutch and returns it to Daniel. "I'm going to go start breakfast; I'll call when it's ready." And he returns to the kitchen, leaving Peggy alone—and embarrassed—with Daniel.

She looks at her friend and colleague, struggling into a standing position with his newly returned crutch, and imagines him awakening to find that his means of mobility has vanished from his side. Her face burns with shame. "I am so sorry, Daniel," she says fervently. "That was quite obnoxious of me. I haven't been quite that drunk in a while, and apparently I just . . ."

She trails off as he turns to give her a polite smile, because it’s Daniel, and sometimes he’s too sweet for his own good. "Don't worry about it, Peggy. I have it back now."

He starts making his way to the kitchen, and she falls in step with him. Guilt is still eating her up, and she can't help speaking again, trying to keep her voice light. "Well, now I owe you one. If you want to turn anything of mine into a Christmas tree, you can."

And at that, he gives her his first genuine smile of the morning. "I might take you up on that."

So that night, she's not surprised when she goes to her room to prepare for bed and finds it smells strongly of pine and the pillowcases are strangely lumpy. A moment's investigation shows that that all the pillows have been removed from their cases and hidden somewhere, and in their absence the pillowcases have been stuffed with pine boughs. There's a note resting on one of them, in a hand that she would recognize as Daniel's even if he hadn't signed his name at the bottom.

_Just wanted to return the favor and spread some Christmas cheer._

And Peggy finds herself laughing.

. . . . . .

And so begins the Great Christmas Prank War of '46.

Peggy had not intended for it to turn into a prank war; indeed, she rather hopes to not speak or think of the drunken crutch tree incident again. She has to admit, though, that while she knows she’ll be ashamed of her drunken escapade for a long time to come, she loves Daniel's response to the whole fiasco: when she saw him the morning after the pillow prank, he'd looked a little shame-faced but so entirely pleased with himself that she couldn't begrudge him the smell of pine that still lingered in her hair. The man is usually so self-deprecating, and while she appreciates his humility, she can't deny that it's nice to see him occasionally looking satisfied with himself. That morning he looked confident, and a confident Daniel is . . . a surprisingly attractive Daniel, she has to admit.

And the incident seems to have changed their relationship, just a bit. The careful distance they've kept from each other since she's been in LA seems to have been eroded, just a bit, by that weekend. He's a little less careful around her now, at least, because it's hard to handle someone with kid gloves while you're filling their pillowcase with pine needles.

And she wants to keep that up, encourage that increased familiarity. So when she finds herself, in early December, standing behind Daniel at the coffee pot, with a string of sleigh bells in her hand from the office decorating she's helping some of the other agents with, she hesitates only a moment before carefully draping them over a button on the back of his jacket. He doesn't notice, and she watches and tries to hide a smile as he starts moving back toward his office . . . and stops, head tilted as he tries to figure out where the sound of jingling bells just came from.

At a nearby desk, Langley, one of the agents Peggy and Daniel are both friendly with, looks over at the chief, catches Peggy's eye, and smiles.

Daniel starts walking again—and stops. Peggy stifles a smile. Daniel seems to realize the sound stops whenever he stops moving, and starts checking his body for the source of the sound.

A few other agents notice and grin.

Finally he finds the sleigh bells on his back and pulls them off—and looks right at Peggy, clearly certain about whose doing this was. "You trying to start something, Carter?"

She schools her expression into a perfectly innocent and confused one. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Chief."

He chuckles and tosses the bells back to her, and Langley catches her eye and grins again, and Peggy is thankful, not for the first time, to be in an office where people consider each other friends, not competition.

She doesn't have to wait for long to find out whether Daniel is going to retaliate: the next afternoon, they have the monthly State of the Office meeting, as they all call it. Daniel talks to the assembled group about cases they've closed recently, cases they still have open, and things that are coming down the pipeline. Certain agents are given assignments, including Peggy; Daniel slides a folder toward her and tells her they'll talk about it after the meeting. When the meeting is over and the agents are dispersing, he stands from his chair and she instinctively does the same, the folder clutched in her hand—only to have a cascade of silver glitter pour out of it and all over her shoes.

"Merry Christmas, Carter," he says with a badly concealed grin, as the other agents laugh and slap the both of them on the back. She can't help laughing too, although she schools her amusement long enough to fix him with a serious glare, a you-haven't-heard-the-end-of-this glare, and he actually looks a bit anxious.

For the next two weeks, their normally well behaved office gets a bit rambunctious, and much more holiday-spirited than before. Peggy covers his office in paper snowflakes; he retaliates by wrapping her desk chair in tinsel so thoroughly that she can't see the chair for all the gold. She hides her brand new tape recorder in the ceiling above his office so he has to listen to it play his least favorite Christmas song, The Fairy on the Christmas Tree, on repeat until he finally locates the recorder. He paints red and white peppermint stripes on every window in her car, and she has to spend a half hour washing it off before she can drive herself home.

It's not quite the most professional thing they've ever done—although really, Daniel's leadership style has always been rather casual anyway—and Peggy is loving it. It's making the office closer; the agents have always been more close-knit than the ones she knew in New York, but now they're coming together even more to help both sides of the prank war plan their next moves. And it's made a world of difference in her relationship with Daniel; they're growing more comfortable and less awkward around each other, and for the first time, he's not treating her like she's made of glass.

Because the thing about Daniel is that, as kind and respectful and well-meant as he is, he still sometimes slips into bad habits of treating her differently because she's a woman. The difference between him and someone like Jack Thompson is that instead of treating her like she's worth less because of her gender, he treats her like she's worth more—like she's a blown glass sculpture, precious but fragile, or that she's a princess in a tower, to be protected and sheltered.

And of course, if she had to choose between the two, she'd take Daniel's worshipful admiration over Jack's demeaning condescension any day. And of course, she does understand and love the instincts that these behaviors spring from—the instinct to treat a woman right, the instinct to protect those who can't protect themselves. But she wishes he would always treat her the way he does when they're deep into a case: like she's a rational, thinking, intelligent human being who's capable of taking care of herself and capable of taking a few hits on the jaw without going down for the count. She's not saying that she doesn't want him to think highly of her; she's just saying that she wishes his thinking highly of her didn't result in him putting her up on a pedestal.

So she finds herself dreading the day the prank war ends, as it inevitably must, because for once, Daniel is treating her like she's a friend, not the beautiful and wounded foreigner who needs him to stand up for her. He's treating her as someone he can dish it out to because he knows she can take it; he’s treating her as an equal. And she loves it. The only thing she would love more would be if he . . . well, no sense in worrying about that now. Because Peggy values her self-respect above all else, and she’s not going to toss it aside by throwing herself at a man who shows no interest in her.

. . . . . .

She's not the only person who's noticed the change in her relationship with Daniel, as she discovers one evening when she and Langley are staking out a pharmacy together. "So," says Langley with practiced nonchalance as they wait for the suspect to appear, "you and the chief seem . . . extra cozy lately."

She blinks in surprise. "What do you mean, Agent Langley?"

He shrugs. "You know, with all the pranking. I'm not complaining," he adds quickly. "Actually, it's nice. You two have always been a little weird with each other; you're obviously very close but you also walk on eggshells around each other. I've never known why."

It's because of a crush, an arrest, an interrogation, and an invitation for drinks. It's because he accepted the job and moved to LA without much of a goodbye. It's because whenever she's alone with him, without a case to distract her, she finds herself wondering how their lives would have been different if she'd found a way to say yes to those drinks. Maybe he never would have left town; maybe he never would have met Karen; maybe he never would have gotten over Peggy and moved on.

But of course she says none of this. Of course she says simply, "Chief Sousa and I have a perfectly good relationship."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" He chuckles, then picks up the radio to deliver a status report. "You know," he says when he's done, "Spender's convinced the two of you used to be sweethearts, and that's why you're so stiff around each other."

She tenses, but calls all her intelligence training to bear in order to keep herself from reacting too visibly. "Well, I am sorry to disappoint Agent Spender, but Chief Sousa and I have never even been on a date."

Langley nods thoughtfully. "You ever thought about it?"

"Thought about it?"

"Dating the chief. Why not?" he demands in response to her dismissive look.

“It’s not very professional to date one’s boss, for one thing.”

He fixes her with a skeptical look. “Come on, you’re spies. Surely you could figure out how to keep a relationship off the SSR’s radar.”

“And why are you so set on this idea?”

Langley shrugs. "You two work so well together. You get along, even when you're all stiff and uncomfortable. You're both nice-looking young people with good teeth. Neither one of you has a social life because you're both so married to your jobs. You're perfect for each other."

And no matter how fond she is of Langley, she is not having this conversation with him. "Do all the other agents get interrogated on their love lives, or am I just lucky?"

"No, everyone gets it," grins her companion. "Actually I've been holding off on bugging you because you're new and I didn't want to scare you off."

"Well, I appreciate that," says Peggy, trying not to let her discomfort with the conversation show. "And I would also appreciate a change of subject."

He looks at her a long moment, and then he laughs. "Fine," he says. "If you’re not going to do something about it, I’ll have to."

“That’s rather ominous.”

“I’m just bringing about the inevitable. Someday you’re going to realize how right I am.”

"We'll see.” Because there's no way she's going to admit that she _has_ thought about it, and she still thinks about it, more and more often as the days go by.

. . . . . .

After that, the prank war takes an unexpected turn. The day after the stakeout with Langley, Peggy comes into work to find that everything on her desk—pens, staplers, picture frames, the telephone—has been individually and carefully wrapped in poinsettia-bedecked wrapping paper. Laughing, she goes to Daniel's office to rib him about it—only to find him staring at his own phone, wrapped in the same paper. "Good one, Carter," he laughs when he sees her in the door.

"It wasn't me," she says.

He looks skeptical.

"It really wasn't," she says, holding up her stapler to show him.

He stares at her, then grabs his crutch and makes his way to the door to see her desk for himself. And it's then, as they're both standing in the door of Daniel's office, that they hear Langley burst into laughter.

"Richard Langley," Daniel says with exaggerated disapproval. "I should have known."

"I figured it was someone else's turn to pull a prank," the man shrugs.

Daniel shakes his head, then makes his way back into his office. "Carter!" he calls. "With me. We have some strategy to discuss."

"You don’t scare me!" Langley calls back, as the chief and Peggy disappear into his office.

"All right," says Daniel, dropping into his chair, "we've got to get him, and good." It's the first time they've planned a prank together, and she can't help but notice how young and boyish he looks as he gets swept up in the excitement of it. He looks . . . adorable, if she's quite honest.

So she puts on her snappiest soldier tone and salutes him. "We'll get him, Chief. You have my word." He chuckles, and she wonders when his laugh started doing such funny things to her stomach.

And so the prank war expands from two combatants to include the entire office. Peggy and Daniel fill Langley's desk drawers with pine cones, and Follmer shows up one day to see that Spender has put his chair atop his desk and decorated the resulting pyramid like it’s a Christmas tree. Agent Fenig puts so much mint flavoring in the coffee pot that Agent Pendrell ends up spitting his coffee out all over his desk, and Arlene, their mild-mannered secretary, comes in early one morning and dyes all the toilet water red and green with packages of Kool-Aid.

"We've created a monster, haven't we?" Daniel asks Peggy one day with laughter in his voice, as they look out over the office where every nameplate on every desk has been replaced with one identifying the desk's occupant as a character from Dickens' Christmas Carol (Daniel has become Scrooge, and Peggy has been re-christened Belle; poor Agent Pendrell, only 5’4”, is labeled as Tiny Tim).

Peggy shrugs. "Everyone's having a nice time. As long as no one starts permanently damaging government property . . ."

He turns to grin at her then, and anything else she might have intended to say immediately flies from her mind as she finds the full force of that smile focused in on her. He doesn’t often smile like this, at least not at her; normally his smiles are small, controlled, a bit sardonic and self-deprecating. And maybe that's for the best, because if he smiled like this often—this unabashed, genuine smile that lights up his whole face like the Christmas tree behind him—she might have a bit more trouble focusing in the workplace.

Langley catches her eye then and nods unsubtly toward Daniel, mouthing something that looks like "Date him!" She glares at him. He grins innocently back.

. . . . . .

Before Peggy knows it, it's nearly Christmas. Her plans for the holiday aren't too exciting; she's not going to fly back to England just to see Cousin John, her only surviving relative in that country, so she's staying in LA and has volunteered to take the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day shifts so that those who have family in the area can spend the holiday at home. That proclamation earned her a great deal of good will in the office, and in fact when Follmer put frosting on the underside of the handset of every phone in the bull pen, he thoughtfully left hers alone. Daniel is staying in town for the holiday—his family wants to see California and so is visiting him instead of him flying back east—and he has already invited her to Christmas Eve dinner. So she won't be entirely alone, which she appreciates, and there's something exciting about the idea of meeting Daniel's family. Not that it means anything; he's just being a good friend. But still.

On the 23rd, Howard throws a party at his LA mansion for the whole SSR office; he claims that it's because he appreciates the work they do, but Peggy's certain it's just that he likes throwing parties and he likes having her and Daniel visit. (And perhaps also Langley? She wasn’t aware that they knew each other, but they greet each other very familiarly when Langley arrives. Maybe, she supposes, they’ve just gotten to know each other at the many parties Howard seems to invite the SSR office to. She doesn't suspect for a moment that they might be plotting something.)

The dinner is delicious, as expected, and the alcohol flows freely—Peggy's careful to limit herself after her last escapade drinking with Daniel and Howard—and all around it's a great party. The married agents have all brought their wives, and Arlene has brought her husband, and it's lovely to see this other part of all her colleagues' lives.

Soon a record player is brought out and many of the couples start dancing to Frank and Bing. Peggy, deep in a conversation with Pendrell and his wife Dana, scarcely even notices this is happening until there's a tap on her shoulder.

"Peg!" It's Howard, looking just a little tipsy. "There's great music. Are you going to dance?"

She shakes her head fondly as she smiles her goodbye to Pendrell and his wife, who are moving on to another conversation. "You know perfectly well I don't dance."

"You used to," he points out gently. "Maybe you just need the right partner."

She blinks. Just how drunk is he? "Are you insinuating that you're the right partner, Howard?" she asks, a bit incredulous.

"What? No." He seems baffled by the suggestion. "I think you and I both know that would be a disaster. I was talking about someone else." And he nods at something behind Peggy, and she turns to see that on the other side of the room, Daniel is deep in conversation with Langley and his wife.

And Peggy cannot help it: she blushes, just a little. So she keeps her head turned away from Howard until she feels she's got her face more under control. "Are you still on about that, Howard? I think Daniel is capable of making his own decisions about who he fancies, without your interference. And anyway if you think he and I are going to dance, you've overlooked something rather important."

"His leg?" Howard makes a dismissive noise. "His swing dancing days are over, but he can slow dance with a crutch. Believe me. I doubled with him and Karen once. She was plenty satisfied with his dancing skills."

Well, Karen the ex-girlfriend is exactly who Peggy does not want to be thinking of right now: the beautiful, sweet-tempered girl who replaced Peggy in Daniel's heart. "Don't you have anything better to do than interfere in my love life?" she asks sharply.

Howard puts his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm going, I'm going. But you should consider it. You could ask him to dance. Or I could tell him to ask you to dance, if you prefer. I'm here for you." And with a tenderness born of years of friendship on and off the battlefield, he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from her face. "You're my best friend, Peg. I just don't want to see you spend your life sitting on the sidelines."

That is . . . strangely sweet of him. She doesn't know how to respond, but he never gives her a chance to anyway. "Also," he suggests, in a brighter tone, "if you two wanted to sneak away for some sparking, I've got lots of secluded balconies with great views of the city. I’ve used them on plenty of dates." And with a wink at her, he strolls away. And Peggy can only shake her head and watch him go.

His words linger with her, though, and she wonders what he would do if she said "Fine, tell Daniel to get over here and ask me to dance." She's hoped for so long that Daniel will renew the romantic overtures he made back in May, but he has shown no inclination to do so. So what would happen if she made the first move? She's not embarrassed to do so—she's done it with men before—but she worries that in this case . . . well, that sort of thing only works if the other person is interested. And she’s fairly certain that Daniel is not. He’s had time to get over his breakup with Karen, and it's not like he hasn't had chances to broach the subject with Peggy; just last week they were at the office together alone until nine o'clock doing paperwork. And he did not make a single move that could be construed as showing interest. She fears that perhaps she and Daniel Sousa have simply missed their chance.

She's brought out of her brown study about Daniel only when she notices something odd: Langley and Howard giving each other significant-looking nods. How odd; first they’re friends, now they’re up to something together. A moment later, Langley has made his way to her side is laying a hand on her sleeve. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

Curious, she nods and follows him away from the party and into a side hallway. There's a door standing open, and he leads her inside, into a dark room lit only by the hallway light coming in through the open door. Howard and Daniel are already there. Langley begins, "We wanted to show you two something."

"I heard about your prank war the last time I met some of the SSR guys for drinks," Howard breaks in. "Sounded pretty entertaining. I wanted to get in on the action."

Suddenly wary—Howard Stark in a prank war is about the most terrifying thing she's ever heard of—she takes a step back.

"No, this is not bad," Howard assures her. "I think you'll think it's . . . fun."

"It's kind of a combination," says Langley. "One last hurrah for the prank war, and also our Christmas present to you. And in a way, our Christmas present to ourselves, as well. I think you'll both like it, really."

"You're asking us to walk willingly into what you admit is a prank?" Daniel asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Well," Howard, "you actually already have." And in a sudden burst of motion, he and Langley both run for the door, pelting into the hallway and pulling the door closed before Peggy even starts to chase after them. And she and Daniel are left in total darkness.

Still, through the blackness of the room she manages to find the doorknob—but it's locked. "Howard Anthony Walter Stark!" she shouts, pounding on the door. "This is childish. Open this door!"

"Not yet, Peg," says Howard. "I need you to do something for me."

She sighs. "What?"

"There's a light switch to the right of the door. Will you turn it on?"

With another sigh, she does so, and glances back at Daniel as the lights come up. The room they're in appears to be a small sitting room, with couches along the walls and no other exit besides the one that is currently locked. If this is a prank, it's not a very good one, she thinks, but that's before she sees Daniel glance up. His expression changes.

"Peg?" he says, a bit uncertainly.

She glances up too, and then she understands. The entire ceiling—every inch, including the chandelier—is entirely covered in mistletoe. There is no place a person could stand to avoid being under a sprig.

"Subtle," says Daniel, and his voice sounds a little strained.

"This is your prank?" Peggy yells through the door. "This is the best you could come up with? Let us out, you two; there's a party we're meant to be attending."

"We will," says Langley. "As soon as you've fulfilled tradition."

Peggy gives the doorknob another furious rattle, but it's not going anywhere. They are stuck, unless she kisses Daniel. Unless she . . . kisses . . . Daniel.

She glances over at her fellow captive to see him looking completely humiliated and uncomfortable, and she deflates. She’s not against the idea of kissing Daniel, for real or for mistletoe traditions, but she’s not going to force it on him.

Before she can speak, though, he gives her a smile that she can see right through; she knows him too well for his acting to fool her. “Don’t worry,” he says, taking a few steps toward her and keeping his voice low. “They can’t see what we’re up to in here; we can just wait a few minutes and then lie and tell them we did it. I’m not going to force you to kiss me.”

Wait, what? That was distinctly not the response she expected; she expected “I don’t want to kiss you” and instead got “I don’t want you to be forced to kiss me.” Would he be willing to kiss her, if he thought she wouldn’t mind? Of course a mistletoe kiss is not the same thing as a proper kiss, but . . . but still.

“What are you saying?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying I’m not going to make you kiss me. It’s not very professional.” And if she knew him less, if her work hadn’t made her a connoisseur of human expression and deception, she might have believed that was all he meant. But she detects something in his expression, something a little . . . resigned.

Peggy Carter has lived a remarkable life, and as she looks back at the journey she's taken, she often identifies turning points—moments where the choice she made altered the course of her entire life (and, a time or two, the course of an entire battle). She suddenly has a very distinct feeling that this is one of these moments, that what she says right now could change the course of her life. Because over the past month, she’s admitted something to herself: Daniel is more than a colleague to her, more than even a friend. And there could be consequences if this goes badly, but she no longer cares. He’s worth the risk.

But still, she treads carefully, feeling him out at every step. “But Chief,” she says, her face perfectly serious, her voice in that no-nonsense tone she uses in briefings, “what if I want to kiss you?”

For a split second, he looks like he’s been struck over the head. But he’s too good at the spy game to let the emotions run rampant for long, and his face is quickly fixed back in a neutral expression. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s tradition,” she says reasonably. “And they went to so much work putting this up—or, more likely, Mr. Jarvis did.” She shrugs. “And it’s Christmas.” She hesitates. “Would you mind, terribly, if I kissed you?”

He’s staring at her dumbly, and at her final question he pauses, and then shakes his head minutely.

That’s a weight off her shoulders; at least he’s not repulsed by the idea of physical contact with her. “All right,” she says, but it’s clear he’s not going to make any move toward her. So she crosses the room to him, puts a hand on his shoulder, and looks up at him, seeking permission. He’s stiff and his breathing has become shallow, but he closes his mouth and leans just a hair toward her, and she decides that’s good enough for her.

It’s a simple kiss, one that they could claim afterward was purely for the mistletoe. But it sends an electric thrill through her; it’s been so long since she was kissed, and being near Daniel, as always, sends butterflies through her stomach. She doesn’t want to end the kiss; his shoulder under her hand, his lips against hers, are so sturdy, so reassuring, so . . . _Daniel_.

But end it she does, because she’s still not sure if he only allowed the kiss for the sake of tradition. So she pulls away far sooner than she’d like to, but she doesn’t take her hand off his shoulder, and he doesn’t move away. In fact he stands as still as a tree and looks like he’s been poleaxed, and the look in his eyes is so hopeful and adoring and unsure and confused that if she didn’t already have feelings for him, she might develop some right now. It’s the way he used to look at her, back in New York, the way he hasn’t looked at her since she turned him down. And it teaches her to hope, and gives her the courage to speak.

“While I’ve got you here,” she says to his sternum, unwilling to meet his eyes, “I might as well tell you that if you ever decided to ask me for drinks again, I’d say yes this time.”

Her eyes are level with his throat, so she can see him swallow. “I tried that once,” he points out, his voice husky. “It didn’t end so well for me.”

She quickly lifts her gaze up to his eyes and sees him looking at her with a guarded expression. He still feels the rejection of that day, apparently. “I told you, Daniel, I had plans.”

“Did you?” His tone is skeptical.

“I did,” she insists, tapping his chest for emphasis. “Do you remember how you and Thompson got me kicked out of the Griffith? I went that evening to look at a new place to live. I couldn’t reschedule.”

And something kindles into life behind his eyes. “You actually had plans? I thought you were just letting me down easy.”

“I actually had plans,” she confirms. “And I spent the next two weeks waiting for you to ask again, and instead you moved across the country, and then even when I came here you didn't ask again.”

He takes a sudden step back, but it doesn’t seem like he’s rejecting her, more like he needs some space to think. "I thought you weren't interested. I was trying to do the polite thing and stop bothering you." He drags his hand down his face, then fixes his gaze on her. "If you still wanted to go out, why didn't _you_ say anything when you came to LA?"

And now she finds herself twisting her hands uncomfortably, wishing she could hide behind them. She's not afraid of war, or death; she's not afraid to tell a man how she feels. But there's one thing she's never been good at: admitting when she's been hurt. "You had Karen," she says softly. "I thought that was a pretty clear sign that anything you'd felt for me before was entirely over."

He drops his gaze to the floor. "I was trying to move on," he says, sounding very embarrassed and very young right then. "I started dating her because I didn't think I'd ever see you again. So I thought I'd better try to forget about you." He hesitates. "Karen broke up with me because she said it always felt like I was holding back with her. Like there was a part of my heart I wouldn't give to her." He uncomfortably shifts position, his hand holding his crutch in a white-knuckle grip. "She was right."

Peggy doesn't know if her heart has pounded this hard outside a battlefield or a crime investigation since . . . well, since Steve. She licks her lips. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, and glances up at her, his expression bashful. "I'd already made an idiot of myself once over you. And I didn't want to scare you off; I love working with you. So I convinced myself I could be happy just being your friend. And I _am_ happy," he's quick to add. "But lately, over the last month, spending so much time with you with all the pranks . . . it's been harder to pretend I don't . . . feel anything."

Peggy watches him, and then she finds herself grinning a grin a mile wide.

He sees it, and a hesitant smile quirks the corner of his mouth.

"Well, we've been a right pair of idiots, haven't we?" she asks. "Luckily we can rectify that now."

He watches her with hopeful eyes as she moves toward him. "You have something in mind?"

"Well," she smiles as she runs her hands up his arms, "someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to put up all this mistletoe. I'd hate for it to go to waste, wouldn't you?"

A smile is making its way across his lips, one of the big genuine ones that lights up his whole face. "I'm sure Jarvis would be glad to know his hard work was appreciated."

Peggy nods as she leans in. "We'll let him know," she says against his lips, and that's the last thing either of them says for quite some time.

They never do tell Jarvis they appreciated his efforts, though—at least not that evening. They're a bit too busy.

. . . . . .

And so ends the Great Christmas Prank War of '46. Peggy doesn't have the time or inclination to continue pranking anyone; she's got to spend her lunch break Christmas Eve buying presents for all of Daniel's family. She'd intended only on bringing a poinsettia to Christmas dinner, but that was back when she was simply there as Daniel's co-worker. Now that she's going to be introduced to the family as his girlfriend—well, suffice to say that she wants to make a good impression.

Daniel seems equally happy to let the war end, and on Christmas Eve at work he announces a ceasefire—to the great disappointment of Agent Spender, who's got a bag of holly leaves badly concealed under his desk. But everyone else seems to consider it a great ending to the month's festivities, especially Langley, who keeps shooting her knowing looks that she pointedly ignores.

And that night, as she stands before a whole gaggle of Sousas with her hand held securely in Daniel's, she thinks that this is the best possible ending to the prank war: one where both sides win.

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
